My cousin Aditi (very much married now) with her cousin Akhshada
Dancing to some very silly tunes
Hitched!
Gentlemen
I should be gloriously happy. Rejoicing, celebrating, hailing the Gods, tra-la-la-ing and all that fancy rot. I should be in a mirthful disposition, looking forward to a legal union of sweethearts in the soulful and amorous season of February, a month that is generally brimming with the ripeness of winter. I should go blazing around my town, beating drums, proclaiming loudly that love triumphs all, meanwhile sneering at nay-sayers in a smirking glance that says, 'I told you so.' So amid all such 'should-bes' and a general atmosphere of geniality (everyone looks happy around me), why do I feel deflated instead? And feel as though Melancholy has marked me for her own? As though God is not in his heaven and all is not right? Lately, more often than not, I've found myself woolgathering, musing (accompanied by dazed, moony look on face) on gawd-knows-what. I would no doubt be presenting a spectacle to the idle eye; the said eye, in turn, no doubt deducing that myself must perhaps be sewn from a living rock. The worst (also annoying) part is, I can't seem to be able to put a finger on the dashed thing that has catapulted me into this bothersome state, just like that - out of the freakin' huey blue.
(FYI - No, I am NOT PMSing) *rolls eyes* (Neither am I cursing the fact that the most-rotten day of the year called V-Day is just around the corner and I don't have a date) *rolls eyes more ferociously now*
I'm fervently hoping the wedding will put said-bothersome-thing-whatever-the-blasted-heck-it-is off my poor, tortured mind. Have packed my stuff (nearly 20 kgs in all) and am ready to get going, to wherever I have to go.
On a more happy-for-my-cousin note, here's sincerely hoping that Aditi has the most wonderful time of her life on the most important day in her life. God bless her!
Really.
Why do you CRY? Perhaps it is because you Cannot Restrain Yourself. You try your best. At first your eyes burn: salty tears behind your eyeballs, rallying round your sockets, waiting to burst out and soak your cheeks. You exercise control. You almost choke on it. Your throat begins to itch, making you feel as though you're sheltering a Saharan cactus-in-full-bloom down there. It makes funny gargling noises, as though it is deriving sadistic pleasure from scratching the insides of your food-pipe. Still, you prevail. You don't allow yourself to break down. But then, just as you're patting yourself on the back for a brave job done, your head begins to ache copiously. And when the good ol' cerebrum starts giving you the throbbing-treatment, you have no choice but to give in. Your restraint caves in. Your throat lets out a gasp. Your eyes finally free the rebelling, sodium-chloride-infested liquid. And they gush out merrily. Soaking your cheeks, trickling down your neck and dousing your shirt with big, wet blots. And then what? After you've drained yourself of the saline fluid, a strange, odd feeling of relief-cum-fatheadedness overcomes you. All those people who've hurt you, all those who claim to love you so much who've let you down, all those lonely hours, all those infernal quarrels you've been in, begin to feel inconsequential. You think, life is but short. Should you really spend the precious hours, whining away, weeping and hollering that you've been wronged? You know its wrong for you to cry. You know that at the end of it, there are no solutions. Life is as shitty as it was before you let out the tears. But still, you cry.
